


One Night Only

by jessahmewren



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - 2000s, Alternate Universe - Journalism, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Reylo - Freeform, Rock Star Kylo Ren, Slow Burn, reylo au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-07-06
Packaged: 2019-05-28 22:57:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15059654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jessahmewren/pseuds/jessahmewren
Summary: “I saw you.”  He was talking with his hands now, and as put off as she was by him now she found it oddly endearing.  “I don’t see anyone when I’m up there…they’re just a faceless hoard mostly, but I saw you like I see myself when I sing…just standing there really reacting to the music, actually listening to the lyrics.”  He looked up at her and gave her a sad sort of smile.  “I could tell you don’t belong here.  Thing is, neither do I.”She could really see him then, behind the leftover black kohl eyeliner and lustrous hair and god-like physique that was Ben Solo.  He was just another supreme talent on a high-speed train to super-stardom, with all the struggles and insecurities inherent with that ride.“I won’t put that in the article,” she said in a quiet voice.  It was the only thing she could think to say.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I've been working on this for a little while, but it would be nice to get some perspective on it and hopefully some feedback. :) Also, this is my first Reylo AU and it's another Ben!Rockstar scenario, but hopefully I brought my own spin to things. Chapter count is not final.

                                                               

-0-0-0-

Rey took the pencil from her hair, loosening the chestnut bun and letting the tresses fall in a soft curtain along her shoulders.  Nervously, she coaxed some errant strands behind her ear as she peered at the large clock on the wall. 

Fifteen minutes. 

The exam in front of her lay mostly complete, and from the bent heads and muted coughs and sighs of her partners in misery, she was not the only person who would be glad when it would be over. 

The overly bright classroom was in the older section of Yavin University, an Ivy League college on the East Coast.  Every day she was there, Rey thanked her lucky stars that she’d been accepted, let alone afforded a scholarship. 

Her revelry was broken when a text notification lit up her phone.  It was from her editor, Poe Daemeron.  Filling in a few more circles on her answer document, she hit read. 

_Come by my office.  Have a story for you._

_…not the best time!  In class rn._

_Just come by.  Don’t keep me waiting._

She shut off her phone with a sigh.  Her job at the school’s outspoken social activism paper aptly named _The Resistance_ had been rewarding if not demanding.  Her editor Poe was a nice man, but he pushed everyone who worked for him to the absolute extreme.  He also had a stubborn streak and didn’t like not getting his way. 

That was fine, she thought to herself, because she had that same flaw. 

Reluctantly, Rey turned in her exam and made her way to Poe’s office.  She pushed open the door, a little bell above it announcing her arrival.  When Poe heard it, he stuck his head out from the frosted glass of his partitioned office.  The door was open. 

“Rey, is that you?  Come on back here.  This won’t take long.”

She walked back to his office and set her books down heavily in an adjacent chair.  She was tired, still wearing the low slung jeans she’d thrown on for class that morning and a navy hoodie over a fitted flannel shirt.  She sank down into the chair, thinking of nothing more than a nap after that grueling physics exam, and not another assignment. 

Poe was rifling through papers on his desk, flipping through the right stack until he found the one he needed.  He pushed the paper across to her, disturbing several stacks along the way.  Poe might’ve been a good editor, but he was anything but organized. 

“There’s a band in town,” he said plainly, “And I want you to cover them.” 

He felt her pushback immediately, and before she could unleash the word _no_ as it had already formed on her tongue, his arms were up in surrender.  “Hear me out Rey, ok before you shoot me down.” 

The lead singer…his mom is some bigtime senator with ties to this place.  She’s made a lot of contributions to the university over the years.  We sort of owe it to her to cover her son’s little hobby.” 

Rey’s face had twisted into a scowl.  This was the worst sort of job she could imagine…one that was not a job at all, merely a political favor on behalf of the university.  It went against everything she stood for. 

“I’m not doing this, Poe.”  She stood and folded her arms over her chest.  “You know I won’t.” 

Poe sighed.  “You’re the best I’ve got Rey.”  He looked up at her beseechingly.  “And if it helps you any, they’re really good.  Made quite a splash on the West Coast.”  She continued to look at him, unblinking.  “It could be good for you.”

She uncrossed her arms, favoring her hips instead.  “I’m not even an entertainment writer, Poe.” 

Poe leaned over the desk, encouraged by the little leeway she was giving.  “It doesn’t matter.  “You’re a journalist, and journalists cover stories.  _This_ is a story.”  He looked at her meaningfully.  “I know it’s not your cup of tea…not by a long shot.  But you can do this Rey.  He smiled at her, a smile tinged with a hint of some former charm before work and deadlines and life had driven it all away.  “You may even enjoy yourself.” 

She frowned.  _Highly doubtful_ , she thought to herself. “When is this concert, anyway?”

“It’s tonight,” he said quickly, at the Centry Arena.”  He handed her a press badge.  “So you better be ready and be there early.” 

Rey slid the press badge over her neck, the weight of it like a millstone.  She guessed the nap would have to wait. 

She was halfway out the door when she turned around, calling to Poe through his open office door.  “What’s the name of this band, anyway?” 

He never looked up from typing, having already moved on to other matters.  “Um, The Knights of Ren,” he managed between keystrokes.

\--

Rey stared into the depths of her closet, at a loss as to what to wear.  She had clothes, but they were functional work clothes.  She wasn’t sure what going on assignment to a rock concert was supposed to look like. 

Just as she was about to sink onto her bed in defeat, her phone rang.  She smiled.  It was Finn. 

She and Finn had been friends since she had arrived last fall for her freshman year.  They both wrote for _The Resistance_ , and they had established an easy working relationship almost instantly. 

“Hey Finn.” 

“Hey Rey-Rey.  Rumor is you got talked into covering The Knights of Ren tonight.”

She rolled her eyes.  “How did you find out about that?”  She couldn’t suppress the groan that escaped, both at her frustration that nearly everyone in their journalism pool knew that this “serious reporter” was covering a rock concert and at her inability to find anything to wear. 

“You know how word travels,” Finn said.  His tone turned serious.  “Hey, you be careful tonight.  Those concerts can be a little rough.” 

Rey laughed.  “I’ve been to a few rock concerts in my time, Finn.  I know how it goes.” 

She could almost feel him shake off her lack of concern.  “No, Rey.  I’m talking about The Knights in general.  Modern Rock/Alt Rock, whatever they call themselves…their concerts can get a little intense.  Just stay on your toes.” 

She worried her bottom lip.  “Yeah, I will.  Thanks.”

He laughed then.  “You’re going to have such a terrible time.” 

She groaned audibly and put her hand to her head.  “Oh my God, I _know_.  I don’t even know how to write about music.  And I don’t even listen to popular music…”

“First of all,” Finn interjected, “You can write about anything.  And secondly…it’s a good thing you don’t listen to popular music because I don’t think it’s popular…at least not yet.” 

Rey laughed.

“But at least they’re well reviewed…mostly.” 

She pursed her lips.  “We’ll see about that.”

\--

Rey arrived at the gate an hour early, only to be greeted by an ocean of black. 

Concert-goers, mostly around her age but some older and a few even younger milled about outside the stadium, most of them sporting all black attire.  Some wore shirts with the band’s logo or featuring a tall, imposing figure holding an electric guitar with a bright red neck, his face obscured by a violent swath of black hair.  Posters plastered outside featured the same figure with his striking guitar, legs spread in a classic power stance.  “The Knights of Ren: One Night Only,” but some enterprising fan had artfully drawn a “K” in front of “Night” on some of them, making Rey smirk a bit. 

She was easily the most colorful person in the crowd, her brown leather jacket and green form-fitting shirt making her feel on display.  Her distressed skinny jeans allowed just a sliver of skin to peak through, still professional, she hoped, but appropriate for the venue. 

Rey flashed her press badge at the attendants and gained access to the arena.   Event attendants led her to an enviable spot on the floor where she would be able to enjoy the concert.  Immediately she began taking things in from a writer’s perspective…the black clothed-concert dwellers, the energy of the crowd.  The few fans she talked to were cordial and enthusiastic, and she took some time to get to know the music she would be listening to. 

The Knights of Ren took inspiration from a lot of different sources.  They played original music, but they also played alternative covers of classic rock songs, choosing ones with timely or meaningful lyrics to send a certain message.  The lead singer, Ben Solo, was the undeniable star.  Every person she spoke with (especially the women) swooned over his good looks, his voice, and his prowess with the guitar.

She was interested in seeing this Ben for herself.

After an eternity of waiting, several beers, and too many fan interviews, the lights went down and a fantastical array of stage lights went up.  Somewhere, a fog machine kicked in.  Rey looked around her in awe; the huge coliseum was packed. 

After a thunderous eruption of applause, The Knights of Ren took the stage. 

Rey looked on as the players took up their instruments.  She watched the lead singer, Ben Solo, delicately grab the microphone from where it was fixed on its stand and press his full lips to it. 

Then, he began to play.  His long fingers moved deftly over the strings of his custom guitar.  It was discordant at first, not at all pleasant, but the switches and changes in key soon smoothed out to something melodic and building…almost violent in its intensity.  And when he began to sing, it was the same throaty, raspy, and melodic sound he had replicated on the guitar, only with an undercurrent of what could only be described as a vehicle of raw saw sexual energy. 

She wrote all of this down furiously in her note pad, while catching herself swaying to the words.  It was a song about loss…about longing.  She knew about both of those things.  The audience held up their phones, swaying and illuminating the stadium.  Rey stood still. 

Ben ripped into another soaring guitar solo, this one segueing into a rousing number that was jauntier than the first…that ebbed and flowed under its own power.  The other Knights (as she began to call them), five in all including Ben, aided in the harmonies to make it at once forceful and beautiful. 

The next number was all Ben.  It was raw, aggressive, almost frightening.  Even Ben’s visage seemed to change.  The once smooth, striking face became pained, his teeth pulled back into a snarl.  The audience sensed the shift in energy and instantly reacted, thrashing about around her.  More than once she was jostled, nearly knocked to the ground.  The strains of Ben’s guitar grew more plaintive, wailing under his ministrations.  If it could have bled, it would have, Rey thought wildly, and as the assault continued and as the crowd grew restless, Ben begin to sing.

He sang of a world gone mad, of having everything and losing it all…of loneliness and pain.  And then, it seemed as though he looked right at her. 

The air crackled around her.  Sweat soaked hair was plastered to his face, but the gaze in her direction was unmistakable.  _Surely, he hadn’t looked at me_? She thought.

The song ended on a mournful note, and the crowd simmered to a low thrumming pulse.  Rey gathered her wits again.  It had just been her imagination, after all.  There were thousands of people here; he couldn’t have looked at her. 

And what’s more, she didn’t want him to.  There was something intense about this man, something singular that she was a little wary of.

The show ended on a tender note, with Ben singing his take on a classic rock cover.  After the applause had died down and most of the people had cleared out, Rey felt a large hand clap onto her shoulder.

She braced, ready to defend herself, only to turn around and look up at a large security guard blocking her path.

“Um, miss,” the man began haltingly.  “Mr. Solo wants to know if you would like an interview.”

Rey blinked her eyes at the man.  It was late, and she really wanted nothing more than to go home and go to bed.  She had what she needed for the article, and Poe had said nothing about an interview. 

That didn’t mean he wouldn’t be thrilled by one. 

Before she had a chance to respond, the man spoke again. 

“He doesn’t give them to just everyone.  I’d take it if I were you.” 

Rey chewed the inside of her jaw and then followed the man through the twisting halls of the backstage entrance.  Her stomach did a little flip as she neared the inner sanctum of the band; she was out of her depth, here, and not quite sure how to handle herself.   She decided she would approach this interview as she would any other, and try to forget the bizarre circumstances that threatened to throw her out of her comfort zone. 

The security guard knocked on the door and waited to be let in.  When the door opened, a waft of smoke and the scent of alcohol came billowing out of the room.  Two couches, a few wilting flower arrangements, and a forgotten crafts table were the only things in the room. 

Rey didn’t know what she expected backstage at a big concert, but it certainly wasn’t this. 

One of the band members met her at the door, friendly and welcoming.  He shook her hand.  “Ben is in the shower.  He’ll be out in a minute.”  He offered her a beer and she took it as much to be cordial as to settle her nerves. 

She made small talk with the band members for a few minutes, about the origin of the band, how long they’d been together, all the while furiously scribbling in her notepad.  Ben had recruited them out of high school, and they’d been together ever since.  They seemed unfaltering loyal to him, a trait she found endearing if not a little unsettling. 

Finally a shadow moved in the background, and Rey saw Ben’s tall form lumber out of the bathroom, hair still wet.  He wasn’t wearing a shirt. 

She averted her eyes, but not before noticing the droplets of water that still pooled in the well-defined pectoral muscles and abs that sculpted his torso.  One of the band members threw him a long-sleeved black t-shirt.  “Have some pride, you scrub.  “We’ve got a lady present.”  Like her, he had an English accent.

Ben shot him a lops-sided grin and pulled the shirt on over his head as he shook his hair loose.  The spots of water from his chest soaked through the front of the shirt, and she found her eyes drifting their before she could settle on his face. 

He side-stepped the other members of the Knights of Ren and flopped down bonelessly on the couch opposite Rey. 

“Hi,” he said nonchalantly.  “I’m Ben.” 

The same dulcet tones that had just entranced an entire stadium full of people were present in his speaking voice, although a bit softer and lower than she had expected.  His dark piercing eyes regarded her impassively. 

She stuck out her hand a bit awkwardly in the space between them and smiled her best journalist smile.  “I’m Rey, from _The Resistance._ ” 

He looked at it with some amusement before dwarfing it with his own. 

His hand was large and warm, his fingers calloused from the years of practice with the guitar.  He clasped her hand with a firm sort of gentleness, as if he wished to pull her to him or to catch her from falling, she couldn’t decide which.  She met his eyes over their joined hands and they had gone strangely soft.  Rey flinched away, her practiced smile all but faded. 

“Too rough?” 

Her hand was safely in her lap again, a white knuckle grip on her pen.  “Excuse me?”

“My hands.”  He looked down at them as if they weren’t his own.  “I don’t get many handshakes,” he said self-effacingly.  “I’m afraid I’m a bit of a brute at it.” 

He smiled and ran his fingers through his hair, the ends still wet from the shower.  He had an engaging smile, she thought to herself, one that fans would die for to see on stage. 

She cleared her throat, writing something in her notebook.  “Well you better get used it,” she quipped.  “You’ve got a lot of fans out there who would love to shake your hand.” 

He barked a sharp laugh.  “No, they want to shake other things,” he said without missing a beat.  With this, the band members howled, rolling over on the couch, clapping him on the shoulder, and every other sort of appreciative display.  Rey could see the glow of hero worship in their eyes, while Ben mostly ignored them. 

A rising blush crept into her face, despite her attempts to hide it.  She silently cursed herself for its betrayal; staying professional in all situations was one of her best attributes, but Ben’s raucous comment had gotten under her skin.  When she finally looked at him, he was doing his best to keep from smiling.

“So, _The Resistance_ huh?  Sounds like an ideology I can get behind.  What kind of stuff do you write about? 

Rey crossed her legs.  “Politics, mostly.  Human rights.  Current events.  Foreign affairs.  Stuff like that.” 

Ben sniffed dismissively.  “Sounds like a publication my mother would love.” 

His mouth twitched imperceptibly, then he looked to the Knights.  In just a few words, he sent them to the tour bus, asking to do the rest of the interview alone. 

Her stomach did a little flip.  Rey didn’t know why it bothered her to be alone with Ben, but it did.  He was… _intense_ was the word she settled on. 

A little helplessly she watched the rest of the band members file out of the backstage area, making their exit with hearty goodbyes.  When the heavy stage door shut, they were alone. 

Ben draped one ankle over a knee, and for the first time she noticed how big he was.  His shoulders took up most of the couch...his torso was broad and well defined under the form-fitting shirt, and his legs were long, his thighs and calves thick beneath his skinny jeans. 

One long arm rested along the back of the couch as he looked at her.  “I’m sorry I embarrassed you earlier.” 

“Oh, you didn’t,” she answered too quickly.  “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

He worked his mouth.  “You’re a lovely shade of pink.  Just right here though.”  He gestured up and down his long neck.  “It doesn’t quite reach your cheeks.” 

Rey gripped the pen harder.  “That’s unprofessional,” she said at last.  She gave him a hard stare, and his eyes seemed to spark at the challenge.  “Can we just get on with this?”

He nodded, but the gleam in his eye was still there.  She was wary of it.

“Good.  Tell me about your early life,” Rey began. 

Ben pressed his lips together.  “I’m the child of a senator and an importer/exporter (at least that’s what he claims to do.  He actually makes his living on a lot of under the table deals he’d rather keep under wraps.  Neither of them paid much attention to me.  They divorced early on.  Yes, they support my music, but as a way to make up for not supporting me growing up.  I always knew I wanted to be a musician.  Yes, I showed a proclivity for it as a child.  My uncle Luke taught me the guitar.  I don’t have the best relationship with any of my family; I consider the Knights my family.  My favorite part of performing is being on stage…the power I feel from the audience…it makes me feel alive.  I tour for the money…the power and glory.  I’d rather be in the studio making records.” 

Rey stopped writing and looked at him.  He looked rather pleased with himself. 

“Did I answer all your questions?”

She rolled her eyes.  “Why did you call me back here, anyway?”

He smiled.  “You looked like a reporter.  I felt like giving an interview.” 

She stood to leave.  “Bullshit.”

“That’s not very professional,” he said with a glint in his eye. 

“And you never answered my question,” she said icily.

“Sit down.” 

There was a note of authority in his voice that hinted at familiarity, that Ben Solo was used to telling people what to do and getting what he wanted.  She just looked at him, a scowl on her face. 

“Sit down and I’ll tell you,” he said, more gently this time.  He had leaned forward on his knees and was looking up at her. 

She eased down into the chair, any pretense of performing an interview all but forgotten. 

“I saw you.”  He was talking with his hands now, and as put off as she was by him now she found it oddly endearing.  “I don’t see anyone when I’m up there…they’re just a faceless hoard mostly, but I saw you like I see myself when I sing…just standing there really reacting to the music, actually listening to the lyrics.”  He looked up at her and gave her a sad sort of smile.  “I could tell you don’t belong here.  Thing is, neither do I.” 

She could really see him then, behind the leftover black kohl eyeliner and lustrous hair and god-like physique that was Ben Solo.  He was just another supreme talent on a high-speed train to super-stardom, with all the struggles and insecurities inherent with that ride. 

“I won’t put that in the article,” she said in a quiet voice.  It was the only thing she could think to say. 

“Yeah.”  His eyes were moist, and his hair had fallen into his face again.  He stood and ran another hand through his hair.  “I uh, need to get back to the boys.  We’re due in the next town by dawn.” 

He looked tired, she thought.  And really young.  She stuck out her hand again, but when he took it he pulled her in close.  “Your cheeks get pink when you’re angry,” he rumbled against her ear, “and it’s a beautiful shade on you.”

He smiled against her and it sent a jolt of heat through her body.  He was gone before she could pull away, but already there was a steady ache of pleasure building between her legs. 

“Until next time Rey,” he said as he turned at the stage door, filling up most of the frame.  He had that same sparkle in his eyes from before, the same lop-sided grin.  She could hear the tour bus idling in the background. 

_I hope there won’t be a next time_ , she lied to herself.  _I hope I never see you again._

-0-0-0-


	2. Chapter 2

-0-0-0-

 “It’s fantastic.  The way you captured the crowd, the music…and then you get an exclusive interview?!” Poe clapped Rey on the shoulder so hard she nearly fell over.  “This is going front page, Rey.  I’m not kidding.” 

Rey blanched.  “No, no, no, don’t do this Poe.”  This was an entertainment fluff piece, not the type of hard-hitting reporting she was used to.  For this to go on the front page with her byline would be…embarrassing. 

“Why the hell not?  You did a great job on this Rey.  You should be proud of yourself.  Besides, the Knights of Ren may be really big one day, and just think, we got the exclusive interview before all of that begins.” 

There was a twinkle in Poe’s eye as he put his arm around her, and Rey groaned.  She would endure it, she supposed, if it was for the good of the paper, but she did not feel the article was her best work.  But perhaps, a little voice told her, she was just unnerved by the unusual evening with the Ben Solo. 

\--

2 months later

\--

The Leaky Bucket was a smoky dive bar a few blocks from campus, and Rey’s favorite place to go after a week of hitting the books.  It was both rustic and modern, with a thrumming soundtrack and small dancefloor that no one ever really used.  Posters of local bands and school fliers were plastered on the walls, and neon signs blinked intermittently to the ever-changing music.  Rose sat across from her, an easy smile on her face. 

“So, how’s school?” 

Rey sighed.  “Don’t wanna talk about,” she said as she took another swing of her beer.  It had been a long week, and Rey’s obligations at _The Resistance_ had interfered with her Poly-Sci/Journalism double major more than ever.  She was tired.  She needed to forget. 

“How’s Finn,” she countered. 

Rose smiled.  “Good.”  She suppressed a giggle.  “Great.” 

Rey smiled and took another swig of her beer.  Before she could say anything, the song changed and “Kill the Past,” one of the hit singles from The Knights of Ren, started its haunting intro over the speakers.  The instrumental finished and Ben Solo’s ethereal voice floated over the room. 

It was the song from the concert, she realized.  The song he was singing when he had noticed her in the crowd. 

“Earth to Rey,” Rose teased.  “You still with us?” 

Rey blushed, looking down at the scarred surface of the table. 

“So, what’s he like,” Rose asked. 

Rey just stared at her, not comprehending for a moment. 

“Who?” 

She laughed.  “Ben Solo!  Of The Knights of Ren?!  You interviewed him you big dummy.  So what’s he like?” 

She swallowed, considering the question.  What _was_ he like?

“Um…he’s kind of frustrating,” she decided on. 

Rose wrinkled her nose, disappointed. 

“Like, rude?” 

“No, not rude.”  She considered.  “He was just hard to interview.  But he was nice.” 

“Oh.”  Rose took another swing of her beer. 

“Is he really that good looking, or is that just stage presence?” 

Rose winked a little, and Rey couldn’t help but laugh.  She remembered his lips pressed against her ear, how they had curled into a smile, and felt warm all over. 

“He’s even better looking in person,” she said simply. 

“Oh my God,” Rose said.  “You’re so lucky.” 

Rey rolled her eyes, but gave her friend a good-natured grin.  As the song ended, Rey’s phone rang. 

\--

Rey slammed the door to Poe’s office so hard the entire _Resistance_ headquarters shook. 

“Rey, don’t overreact here.”  Poe had his hands up in acquiescence, as if that alone would quell her anger.  “You haven’t heard?  The Knights of Ren just got picked up for a summer tour…twenty engagements across the Eastern seaboard.”

She seethed.  “That has _nothing_ to do with me.”

He picked up the issue of the paper with her Knights article on the front, holding it between them as if protecting himself.  “This got attention.  I can’t control that.  Now _Rolling Stone_ needs you.  _Rolling Stone_ , Rey.” 

She sat down in the chair opposite his desk, hands folded across her chest. 

“ _Rolling Stone_ contacted the band about embedding a reporter for the duration of the tour.  When they got back to them, they agreed under one condition.”  Poe shook his head, mystified.  “That they use you.”  He laughed.  “Rey, from _The Resistance,”_ he said in disbelief.“It took them two weeks to even track you down!” 

Rey’s heart was in her throat.  Ben Solo had asked for her, specifically.  Before she could even process, Poe broke in again. 

“Rey, this could be huge for you, for your career.  “This is _Rolling Stone_ …I hope you aren’t considering turning this down.” 

Rey looked at him incredulously.  “I hope you’re not considering that I take it.”  She rose, pacing in front of him.  “I have school, and the paper to worry about, and…”

Poe rose, grabbing hold of her arms.  “Rey, listen to yourself.  The paper?  This is a once in a lifetime opportunity here.  It’s only for a few weeks…you can take a leave from school.  You’ve got to do this!” 

She pulled away from him, worrying her bottom lip.  Perhaps Poe was right.  It was only for a few weeks, after all, and to cover an up-and-coming band for a national publication was the opportunity of a lifetime. 

Plus, she thought secretly, she would get to see Ben again. 

\--

The same security guard that had led her backstage picked her up at the airport and drove her to the hotel where the band was staying.  Rey discovered his name was Charlie, and once he felt comfortable enough, was pleasant to talk to.  She arrived to the hotel with her laptop, a few bags, and little else.  She had packed light for the few weeks of travel, figuring less was best when on the road with a rock band. 

Much to her surprise, Charlie led her to an opulent suite, not the humble room she had imagined.  She placed her belongings on the king-sized bed and smiled shyly. 

“This is too much,” she started to say, but Charlie waved her off.

“Boss wants you to be comfortable,” Charlie said.  “But things aren’t always this good.  Depends on the venue,” he said with a smile.  “He wants to see you when you get settled in.”

 _Boss,_ she privately registered.  That would be Ben Solo. 

She smiled at him.  “Alright.  How do I—“

“I’ll be right outside ma’am.” 

“Oh.”

So he was security for her, too.  At least for the time being.  Or perhaps just an escort?  Whatever he was, she would be shaking Charlie fast.  Rey was never one to need looking after. 

After washing her face and changing her shirt (she’d spilled something on the plane), she opened the door to find Charlie standing right where he said he would be.  Together, they walked to the end of the hall and stopped in front of two large double doors.  Charlie punched in a code and they swung open, leaving her alone with him.   

She found Ben stretched out on an antique chaise lounge, one knee up and a hand balancing on it.  It was dark in the room, the only light coming from the one window partially covered by heavy drapes. 

His white shirt was open part of the way and his feet were bare as if he was interrupted while dressing or undressing for a formal event.  He wore black fitted slacks that looked out of place from his rock star persona.  There was a crystal tumbler and a half empty bottle of dark liquor on the table next to him. 

“Hello Ben.” 

Ben looked up and saw Rey standing in the milky light that streamed through the one uncovered window behind him.  She was adorably awkward and rigid, with her hands clasped tightly around her laptop and her mouth a flat line.  Her jeans and t-shirt made her appear younger than she was.  He guessed she was around 22.

“Rey,” he said smoothly.  “Thank you for coming.”  He reached for the glass where it rested on the table beside him and finished the last of it.  “Can I get you a drink?” 

She watched him impassively, her dark eyes tracking his every move.  He had large hands, but there was a delicacy to his fingers and a certain grace with which he did everything.  He topped off the glass again but did not pick it up. 

“I really enjoyed your article,” Ben began.  “I thought you really captured my essence.”  He laughed at himself, and Rey frowned.  “No, seriously, it was good.  That’s why you’re here.” 

Rey looked at him rather flatly.  “Is that the only reason I’m here?” 

He matched her gaze, and for a moment she could see that spark she’d seen the first night they’d met. 

“You tell me Rey,” he said as he took a sip from his renewed glass.  “Why did you decide to take this journey with us?” 

She settled onto the couch opposite him.  “Power and glory,” she said, giving him a little smile, “just like you.” 

He smiled then, and sank lower into the chaise lounge.  “Ok then.” 

He pursed his full mouth.  “I realize I never gave you a proper interview.”  He took one more sip from his glass and then set it down.  “I want to rectify that.” 

“Ben, the interview was fine, there’s no need to—“

 “Do you consider yourself a good girl, Rey?”

To her credit, she didn’t flinch.

She cleared her throat.  “I’ve never considered concepts of good or bad,” she said steadily.  “I don’t like putting people in neat little boxes.” 

He seemed to consider this.  “I do,” he finally said.  “I think it’s simple.  There’s good,” he said, motioning to one side with his large, charismatic hands, “and then there’s bad.  There’s no in between.” 

Rey worked her mouth, listening to him. 

“So, Rey.  What side do you think I’m on?”

She swallowed.  “I don’t know you,” she side steadily, “to make that kind of judgment.” 

Ben laughed, and although it seemed to come easily it was somehow harsh and mirthless.  “Ah, I think you do know me.”  He smiled, but it never reached his eyes.  “And I bet you know by now where the chips fall.” 

She returned his smile if only to hide her nervousness, and opened her laptop.  “What makes you think you’re bad,” she asked. 

He cocked an eyebrow.  “Is this for one of your articles?” 

She withdrew her hands from the keyboard.  “Just a question,” she added. 

He nodded his head, those dark eyes sparkling.  “Because I’m not good.” 

She chewed the inside of her jaw. 

He cocked his head toward her, a curtain of dark hair sifting the light.  “How about I answer a question for a question,” he offered.  The old gleam was back, and he favored her with a wry grin.  “For your articles.” 

Rey considered this, then opened up a Word doc.  “Go on,” she said.

“Ladies first.”

He’s enjoying this, Rey thought to herself.  For some reason he’s enjoying this very much. 

Rey typed a few words and looked up at him.  “What did you want to do other than be a musician?”

“Boring, he said dismissively.  “Next question.”

She huffed in frustration.   

“Okaayy.  What are you most looking forward to on the upcoming tour?”

He looked at her.  “Being with you,” he said. 

She looked up at him, her heart in her throat.  His eyes were fixed on hers, and they shone with a curious light.  “I can’t write that,” she said. 

He looked wounded.  “Why not?”

“It’s not professional,” she whispered. 

He only looked at her, his eyes soft.  “You can write it,” he said quietly.  And before she could stop him, he was beside her on the couch, shoulders touching, smelling of whisky and something decidedly male and typing on her laptop.  “ _Being with my resident tour reporter and getting to know her better,”_ he typed fluidly. 

She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t speak.  She felt dwarfed by his size, the mere presence of him, by the way the fine furniture groaned under his bulk.  It all bespoak of sex, of masculinity, and a sort of childlike innocence that was completely endearing. 

He put the last bit of punctuation at the end of the sentence, turned to her, and smiled.  It was a bright and self-effacing smile; it was not the smile of someone who fell into the _bad_ column of life.  She wanted very badly to tell him so. 

She returned his smile instead, and for as infuriating as he could be, felt its genuine warmth.  “You trying to steal my job?” 

He lifted his chin at her.  “Maybe.  You want to trade?”

She shook her head.  “No way.  I can’t carry a tune in a bucket.”  

“Ok then.” He held her gaze for a moment, then handed her back the laptop and returned to his place on the lounge.  “Now I get my question.”

She swallowed, wondering what he might ask, and suddenly wished he’d just stayed beside her on the couch and forgotten their arrangement.  There was a small part of her that would have been fine with that.  Completely fine. 

“Tell me about where you grew up.” 

She winced imperceptibly. 

“England,” she said shortly. 

He smiled at her brevity.  “Is that all I’m getting?” 

“For now, yeah.” 

He nodded. “Fair enough.” 

Rey looked down at her notes.  “Um…favorite childhood memory?”

“Finally growing up,” he said flatly. 

He ran a hand through his thick hair, a nervous habit of his apparently.  He looked at her meaningfully. 

“Same question,” he said quietly.

She thought briefly of all the Christmases she’d spent in strangers' homes, with other people’s children and generic presents that were purchased for her out of obligation rather than love, and all the birthdays she’d spent alone or with children in orphanages waiting for parents who would never come back.  Who never wanted her. 

Her throat was thick when she muttered “Same answer.” 

Rey abruptly closed her laptop, her fingers curling over the edge.  She looked across the space between them, briefly meeting Ben’s eyes.  “I think I got what I need today,” she said quietly. 

Ben rose, his hair falling in his face.  “I’m glad you got what you needed Rey,” he said, his eyes dark.  “And I’ll see you tomorrow.” 

When she turned to leave, she could still feel him watching her. 

-0-0-0-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos/comments are life. <3


	3. Chapter 3

-0-0-0-

The next morning at breakfast, Ben was nowhere to be found.  The other band mates didn’t seem concerned, and when she asked Charlie about him after they’d eaten, he seemed evasive.  When lunchtime rolled around, Rey had still not seen him. 

She knocked on the double doors of his suite loudly enough to bring some of the others out of their rooms.  Rehearsal was in two hours.  Why wasn’t he up? 

Her fist was raised to knock a third time when Charlie put his hand out to stop her. 

“He’s merely sleeping in ma’am,” he said stiltedly.  “No need to do that.” 

She set her mouth.  Rey had good instincts, a gift that had served her well her entire life, and there was something about this that wasn’t right. 

“Let me in,” she said, her voice harboring an edge that suggested she shouldn’t be argued with. 

Charlie looked at her with some measure of defeat and then reluctantly pressed the code on the outside of the door. 

Inside, the suite was dark.  The curtain that was previously open was shut tight, and there was a room service cart parked near the door.  Rey lifted the silver dome over the plate to reveal the entrée untouched. 

Rey pushed further into the suite, her heart pounding in her chest.  With some trepidation, she spied the closed door to the master bedroom and placed her hand on it.  It was quiet within. 

She turned the handle and pushed inside. 

For a split second she wondered if she wasn’t overreacting.  What if he had _company_ , she thought to herself.  The thought of meeting some young groupie at the door wearing one of his shirts was enough to turn her stomach.  But as she made her way into the room, any fears about an awkward encounter were all but alleviated when she finally saw him. 

He was lying in the middle of the large bed, face down on the grey sheets and stripped to the waist.  The curtains were open, and the brunt of the midday sun shone over all the curves and contours of his prone form.

Rey approached the bed tentatively, her previous confidence now quelled by a sliver of dread that now snaked its way up her spine.  He hadn’t moved when she entered, and she hadn’t been quiet. 

She stood at the side of the bed, trying to get a clear view of his face.  It was, of course, obscured by a swath of black hair and where one of his strong arms had wrapped around the pillow. 

Hesitantly, she bounced the mattress with her hands.  “Ben,” she called quietly, but got no response from him.  She tried again, only louder this time, but there was no reaction, only the gentle jostling of his limbs. 

That’s when she climbed onto the bed and made her way to him. 

When she was finally at his side, she pushed the hair away from his face.  There was a fine sheen of perspiration on his forehead, and he was hot to the touch.  Rey put her hand on his shoulder and gave it a little squeeze.  “Hey Ben.  You’ve got to wake up.” 

He exhaled loudly, but didn’t move.  She touched his hair again, smoothing it back where it had once again fallen over his face. It was softer than she’d expected, and she resisted the urge to card her fingers through it.  She gave his shoulder another shake, this time a lot harder. 

“Get up, Ben!” 

He moaned then and rolled onto his back.  Encouraged by the progress, she knelt by him, holding his face in her hands.  She leaned over him and gently patted his cheek.  “You’ve got rehearsal,” she coaxed.  “You’ve got to get up.”

Suddenly his eyes fluttered open and one of his large hands went up to close on her wrist.  Ben could feel the heat of her hand on his face, and he stared up at her in amazement.

“What are you doing here?”

She blinked, a little embarrassed to be kneeling in his bed with him in such a vulnerable position, and withdrew her hand. 

“I was worried,” she said at last.  “It’s late.” 

He pushed himself up onto his elbows and wiped a hand over his face.  “How late?”

“It’s nearly two.” 

“Shit,” he muttered.  He scooted to the other side and sat on the edge of the bed, his shoulder’s hunched.  Rey heard the drawer of the nightstand pull out and a pill bottle rattle.  The pit of her stomach dropped out.

“I uh…I’m glad you’re ok,” she said as she made her way off the bed.  Ben only grunted in response.  As she made her way out of the suite, she could hear the water turn on in the bathroom. 

\--

Rey sat laboring away at the back of the theatre as The Knights of Ren finished their rehearsal.  _Rolling Stone_ wanted a draft by the end of the week, and although this was just the first leg of the tour, life on the road with The Knights had kept her busy enough to feel the press of an ensuing deadline. 

The Knights’ manager, Mr. Snoke, kept a watchful eye on the day’s proceedings.  This was the first time she had met him, and although he had projected a sort of dated charm and formality with her, something about him told her it was mostly a front.  There was a keenness to the way he looked at her (and the way he looked at Ben, especially) that gave Snoke a hard and untrustworthy edge. 

“You’re working too hard,” Ben, groused in her ear on his way out of the theatre.  Rey still sat folded up in one of the stadium seats, pounding away on her laptop.  She could have said it right back to him, but she didn’t. 

After the show that night, the backstage area was electric.  The Knights were all passing around beers, high on the adoration of the crowds and a successful set.  The stadium, as usual, had been packed.  Rey, like a good journalist, had observed all of this with a critical eye.  One very noticeable person absent from the celebrations was the one person who should be celebrating the most, but Ben had never entered the backstage area.  When Rey asked about him, no one seemed to know where he was. 

Rey slipped out without anyone noticing she was gone, weaving her way back through the twisting passageways that would carry her out onto the stage.  She found him there, sitting on the edge with his feet hanging off the sides. 

“Hey,” she said, her voice carrying in the eerie quiet of where, only an hour ago, thousands of fans once clapped and screamed. 

Ben didn’t turn around.

“Everyone’s looking for you,” Rey tried again.  She began walking toward him, her feet too loud in the empty space.  She’d never been on a stage like this before, and even with no one here to watch her, it felt daunting. 

She reached his side and settled in the space next to him.  Her feet hung off but came nowhere close to reaching his.  It made her smile.  She looked up at him.  “Are you ok?” 

He turned to look at her.  He still had his stage clothes on…his signature all-black ensemble, and his eyes were rimmed in black.  “You weren’t here,” he said simply. 

She swallowed, finding it difficult to look at him.  His hair was a mess from thrashing about on stage, and she fought the compulsion to smooth it with her hands. 

“Yes I was,” she said defensively, her voice sounding smaller than she meant it too. 

He pressed his lips together, shaking his head. 

“You weren’t.  I looked for you.” 

_Oh._

“I was backstage,” she said quietly.  “I have a deadline.” 

He turned, reaching for her shoulders with his gloved hands and grabbed hold of her.  It startled her and she gasped, but his touch stopped short of bruising.    

Realizing he was hurting her, his fingers relaxed and he smoothed his hands down her arms instead, somewhat chagrinned by his impulsive actions.  His mouth moved soundlessly until he found the words.  “I---need you _here_ ,” he somewhat stammered.  He was unable to look into her eyes, so he followed the tracks of his hands down her arms until his hands had reached hers.  He did not move to hold them. Instead he curled his fingers into hers as if needing the contact but unsure how to ask for it. 

He looked up then.  His face said _please_ , even if his lips did not, and his eyes were as skittish as a colt’s.  And then, Rey understood.  She was not here just to write articles.  She was here because of what he’d said that first night, how they had connected over the song, and Ben Solo…in many ways a lost boy caught up in the isolating whirlwind of rising fame…wanted to be seen like that again and again; he needed to see himself through her. 

Rey was not just a journalist, she realized, she was a muse, whether she liked it or not. 

The heavy weight of that realization settled on her as her arms went up to gently wrap around his neck, pulling him down to her.  It was an innocent, almost hospitable gesture, but she was nearly thrown of balance by the way his body instantly responded to her tentative touch. 

He soaked up the contact like a drop a water on arid ground, his massive arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her close.  He dropped his head to her neck, snuffling the sensitive skin there.  A small sound escaped his lips, followed by a heavy sigh.  Ben opened to her like a flower to the sun…like he hadn’t been touched in too long to remember. 

She rocked back against his weight and closed her eyes.  Despite the misgivings she should be having, it was a good feeling….a right feeling.  And if the responsibility of being Ben Solo’s muse was a little daunting, she would sort through that tomorrow.  Right now she was completely engulfed by the strength of his arms and the heat of his body as he clung to her under the pale spotlight of the empty stage, and nothing else seemed to matter.

-0-0-0-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Kudos/comments are life <3


End file.
